An Open Letter to My Cat

You used to be my baby. My everything. My whole, fluffy, little world. I swore up and down that that would never change, even when I was pregnant. I even remember saying, “I can’t imagine ever loving anything more than this cat… I just love him so much!”

Well, Kitty, I was wrong. I still love you just as much as I always have, but damn, you’re making it hard. I know, we brought a new little hairless cat (more commonly known as a “baby”) into your home a few months ago, but dude, you’ve gotta get on board with the new world order. Unfortunately, you’re not at the top anymore. I’m sure that’s hard for you to wrap your little head around, but tough shit.

You mope around here with your long, drawn out meowls. Listen—I’ve got enough crying to contend with right now. You’re fed, you’ve gotten your fair share of attention, and I’m basically glued to this couch with a nursing baby, so I’m always here for snuggles. It’s not my problem that you don’t want to be near the baby. Work it out.

I’ve even taken the liberty of compiling a list of grievances so we can get back on the same page. Please review and get back to me:

I can see why you might think that the moment the baby *finally* closes his eyes at 3am—for what will surely be no more than 2 hours tops—is the right time for you to jump on the bed and pad at my face for attention, but let me tell you that you’re wrong. This is not your moment. And when your pacing and pawing and meowing wakes the baby, you’re getting booted to the garage, and no one will feel sorry for you.

The baby’s playmat? Not your new bed. Nor is his little stuffed monkey your new pillow, nor his pacifier your new chew toy.

You have food. I cannot patrol your dish all day long, ready to spring into action the second the bottom of the bowl is visible through the pebbles. Eat what’s left, then we’ll talk. And while we’re at it, let’s also be clear that knocking your nearly-full water cup over onto the wood floors will be viewed as an act of warfare from here on out.

When you’re banging on the nursery door from the inside because you snuck in behind me and got locked in at nap time, know that I’m not running to let you out just because I’m worried about your wellbeing—it’s because if you wake that baby up, your fluffy ass is getting shipped to Timbuktu. You’re a cat, you understand the importance of naps, right?

I won’t even get into the issue of your hair covering every surface in the house (including the baby’s clothes, blankets, face, hands…), because I gave up that battle years ago when I threw out all my black clothes. But honestly, if you could get that under control while we’re at it, that’d be great.

Lastly, we need to talk about the vomit situation. It used to be funny that you ate ’til you barfed twice a day before the baby got here. Cleaning it up wasn’t so hard, and we’d laugh it off with a “ha, the crazy cat left us another present!” But now, I’m literally covered in spit up all damn day already. The last thing I need is to spend another second of my life cleaning up someone else’s puke. I’m not a 21-year-old at a frat party anymore! Portion control: just try it.

Get your shit together, Kitty. I still love you, but please stop making it so damn hard.

The Infertility Guidebook

You guys, infertility is hard. It's the hardest thing I've ever had to go through in my life. Not just because of the emotional rollercoaster that becomes your entire life, but because it's a huge world of unknowns.